Bruno’s Dream

16

Danby was standing in the long grass in Brompton Cemetery. It was Wednesday afternoon.

He had gone through the day, indeed the last few days, at the works in a kind of dream. There had been the usual round of small crises which he normally rather enjoyed. The big Columbian press used for printing small issues of posters had broken down and one of the apprentices had tried to mend it with terrible results. The Bingo people had changed their mind about the format when the cards were already printing. The safety hand of the guillotine had gone wrong so that they were breaking the law every time they used it. The lorry delivering the lead had backed into a stack of paper and ruined it. A reproduction of a modern picture in a local magazine had been printed upside down. The expensive new type had arrived for one of the composing machines and the bill was exactly twice the estimate. One of the girls in the packing department had fallen off the ladder into the storeroom and broken her ankle. The elderly eccentric for whom they printed woodcuts had rung up five times about the Japanese paper. The art school from which Danby had been trying to buy an old Albion had sent a representative to discuss the sale.

Danby had left early, handing everything over to Gaskin with a preoccupied indifference which amazed the latter, who thought that Danby would at least be cock-a-hoop at the prospect of getting the Albion, a very beautiful early model which he had long coveted.

Danby had been tempted to have an encouraging quick one at the Tournament or the Lord Ranelagh, which had just opened their doors, but it was better to remain sober and for once he had no difficulty in doing so. Drunk or sober was much the same now. It had been raining and now a faint evening sunlight was making everything glitter. On the other side of the tall iron railings the rush-hour traffic was travelling steadily, hypnotically, along the Old Brompton Road. Inside the railings the uncut grass made the cemetery look like a field, or more like a ruined city with its formal yet grassy streets and squares: Ostia, Pompeii, Mycenae. Big houselike tombs, the dwellings of the dead, lined the wide central walk which showed in a cold sunny glimpse the curve of distant pillars. In quieter side avenues humbler graves were straggled about with grass, with here and there a cleared place, a chained space, a clipped mound, a body’s length of granite chips, a few recent flowers wilting beside a name. Above the line of mist-green budding lime trees there rose far off the three black towers of Lots Road power station. Ye are come unto Mount Zion and the city of the living God.

It had come as no surprise to Danby when Bruno had said to him after she had gone, “That girl looked a bit like Gwen.” Danby had taken in the resemblance earlier, when he had seen Lisa’s head so close to Bruno’s. He had noticed the heavy mane of dark hair, the brooding heaviness of the long face, the rapt wide-eyed attentiveness, the shaped thinking mouth with the deep runnel over it. He had gazed and brooded upon that face in the evenings that followed when Lisa had come to Bruno, and Danby had sat silent, apparently unnoticed, in the corner, occasionally moving to pour champagne, while Lisa led Bruno through mazes of self-revelation in a kind of unfaltering converse such as Danby had never heard before and which he felt that he scarcely comprehended. He had expected to be told to go. But no one suggested it so he stayed.

After she left he and Bruno looked at each other in puzzlement, in amazement. Bruno seemed sometimes on the point of asking a question. Perhaps he wanted to ask who the woman was. Or perhaps he assumed that she was Miles’s wife. Perhaps it was some quite other question. In fact they said nothing to each other.

When Danby understood the troubling resemblance he recalled at once the curious fright which he had experienced when he had seen Lisa looking at him out of the upper window at Kempsford Gardens, and he then realized what it was that he had been afraid of. It was not just of a very serious girl with a fine mouth and a formidable power of attention. Now throughout each day at the works he tried hard to scatter his thoughts, to act mechanically, not to think, not to look forward. With an intensified self-consciousness he cherished his so-long-accustomed being. He chatted carefully with Adelaide but told her he was ill. When Diana rang up he made an appointment and then cancelled it. He was glad that Bruno continued to be in a rather inward state and showed no signs of wanting to discuss the phenomenon on which he had commented. Danby hoped that it would all somehow fade and blow away; and yet he also knew that it would not.

Danby’s relationship with Gwen had seemed to him, even at the time, something that was not quite himself, but more like a visitation from outside. He had perfectly understood Miles’s looks of incomprehension and amazement. Such a con junction was so improbable. Gwen was not his type and he was not hers. Gwen had had a kind of authority over him which seemed more an attribute of her sheer alienness than the result of any rational effect of persuasion. Perhaps it had simply been the authority of a terrifying degree of love. And in retrospect Danby saw his marriage as a pure celebration of the god of love, something almost arbitrary and yet entirely necessary, invented and conducted at the whim of that deity without the help of any mundane basis in nature. Of course Danby, though he had never opened a textbook of psychology in his life, knew that the working of nature is very often hidden and that what had so powerfully brought him and Gwen together could well be, after all, something natural, but he did not want to know. He preferred to believe in the action of the god in his life, an action which he took to be entirely sui generis and unique.

After Gwen’s death, as he very slowly recovered himself, he felt a sense of reversion, of a return to a very much easier and more natural and Danby-like mode of existence. This was accompanied by no relief. Gwen had been a source of joy and indeed of surprise so continual that the sort of strain upon his nature of which he became so conscious afterwards could not then be apprehended as a discomfort. But in settling down to being once again himself Danby had felt as it were the pull of gravity which, after some years, had something rather reassuring about it. This was a matter which Danby had got as far as discussing with Linda, and their conclusions about him, arrived at together, had been a positive solace. It was not that Gwen had come to seem like a dream. Danby held it for gospel that Gwen had been reality and his subsequent life had been a dream. But, and especially with Linda’s help, he had decided that, like most other people, he was not made for reality. In any case he had no alternative. He could not now, without Gwen, even conceive of any possibility other than the dream life of the homme moyen sensuel which to the tips of his fingers he so absolutely was.

Indeed, as the years went by, when after Linda, who had done him so much good, he so sensibly and quietly took up with Adelaide and felt the smooth weighty powers of initiative of one who is entirely assembled inside his own nature, he began, without in any way thinking it to be sacrilege, to doubt whether he had ever truly been awakened even by Gwen. Gwen had been a sort of miracle in his life the nature of which he would never entirely understand. Such a thing could only happen once, and it had left him a sacred relic upon which he could meditate with profit until the end of his days. But had he ever really existed in the world of which his love for Gwen had given him intimations? As time went by he began to doubt it. Not that he doubted Gwen’s value. But he began, as with middle age his exploration of his own nature became more confident, to wonder how far a person like himself had genuinely participated in that feast of love. Danby was aware that one forgot things. But on the whole he felt that the god must have found him, for all the frenzy of his enthusiasm, something of a disappointment. He had loved whole-heartedly but with too ordinary a heart.

The appearance of Diana had in no way startled Danby. Diana was a kind of mixture of Linda and Adelaide and in a way more attractive to him than either of them. She had Linda’s coolness and Adelaide’s peculiar kind of animal sweetness and charm. He had loved talking to her as much as touching her. Her delightfulness had reminded him how un ambitious he had lately become about women and how few of them he took the trouble to meet nowadays. She had also reminded him of his power to attract. He had enjoyed dancing with her more intensely than he had enjoyed anything for years. Naturally he would have liked to go to bed with her. However she was married to Miles, and though at first it had seemed a rather jolly idea to cuckold Miles, a more ex tended reflection suggested snags.

Danby, though he would not have admitted to being afraid of Miles, regarded the mystery of Miles as something rather formidable and deserving of a certain respect. After all, Miles was Gwen’s brother, and that was not the place in which to risk having some kind of mess. Danby did not doubt that he could easily overcome Diana’s professed scruples. But, as he thought about it longer, he began to feel that perhaps it would be nicer after all to explore the sentimental friendship which she had said she wanted. She was indeed, like himself, a devotee of “cool self-love,” and it would go hard but their confederate hedonisms would not find out some way of enjoying each other without risk. What the meeting with Diana did, however, also lead Danby to resolve was that it was time to go hunting again. He would find another less problematic equally marvellous girl and take her to bed. And he would look after Adelaide too. Everything would be all right and everyone would be happy. These reflections however belonged to the period prior to last Saturday. They had nothing whatever to do with what had actually happened now.

Danby, who had stationed himself beside the defunct Chelsea pensioners’ enclosure, moved up closer to the railings, stumbling upon hidden stones in the arching grass. His eyes were tired and dazzled by following in the rather pale bright light the endless stream of people who were emerging from West Brompton tube station. She had said that she would not see Bruno today because he must not be made too dependent on her visits. It was during the afternoon, when Danby had realized just how appalling it was that she was not coming, that he had had to cease deceiving himself about what had occurred. She had said she usually came home about half-past five. Danby had been in position since five and it was now after six. It was possible that he had missed her, it was possible that she was spending the evening elsewhere, it was possible that she had come home by another route and entered Kempsford Gardens from Warwick Road. Danby was feeling dazed and a little light-headed, as if he were not getting enough air. Outside the cars were moving and the people were filing endlessly past in the weak bright heartless sunshine. Inside the cemetery there was emptiness and distance and expanses of shady green. Danby had no clear intentions and had shunned formulating any. It was simply necessary to be here and see her.

Danby darted to the cemetery gate and shot through it. Lisa, who had just passed close by the railings, was waiting to cross the road. She turned, frowning, a little dazzled by the sun, as Danby blundered up to her.

”Oh, excuse me-“

”Oh, hello.”

As she turned back from the roadway and looked full at him Danby felt a crushing constriction about the heart and a sort of black explosion. “I er I saw you and I wanted to, just a word, if you can spare a moment-“

”Certainly. Are things all right? Bruno no worse I hope?”

”Bruno-no-just the same. Well, he’s missing you aw fully-“

”He knows I’ll come tomorrow?”

”Yes, yes.”

”You see, I couldn’t always come, sometimes there are meetings and things-and it’s better not to have too rigid a pattern.”

”I quite understand-“

”What was it you wanted?”

”It’s, well, about Bruno, about seeing him, could you-Look, could you just come into the cemetery for a moment, there’s such a crowd here.”

Danby touched the sleeve of her coat. It was the same brown mackintosh but he could not now have closed his fingers to grip it. He turned into the gate of the cemetery and felt her moving just behind him. Once inside he walked a little way towards one of the side alleys and stopped under a lime tree beside a tall square lichen-freckled tomb with an urn on top of it.

Lisa joined him and reached out a hand to the tomb. Her fingers moved upon its crumbling surface. He saw the long hand with the clear half moons as Bruno had said, so like.

”I hope I don’t overtire Bruno?”

”No, you’re doing him so much good.”

”When people talk from the heart they sometimes regret it later.”

”You’re just what Bruno needs. He’s been longing to get all that stuff off his chest.”

”We’ll soon get on to talking about ordinary things. It’s just a matter of transition.”

”You’re so wonderful at controlling him! You can make him talk about anything.”

”Well, if he says all these things to me perhaps he won’t feel he’s got to say them to Miles!” She was pushing back the yellow scarf and hauling her hair out again. She looked tired.

”You look tired.”

”I’m all right. Look, about Miles seeing Bruno-“

”Had a hard day?”

”Much as usual. Miles says he’ll go again on Sunday, if you think Bruno’s really ready for him.”

”You’ll come too, won’t you?”

”Maybe-“

”If you bring Miles into the room it might help.”

”It might. I’ll think about that. Would the same time on Sun day morning do for Miles?”

”Yes, that’s fine.”

”Good. Well, if that’s all I’ll be getting along.”

”Oh er wait just a minute, Lisa, would you-“

She had moved away and now turned again attentive. Behind her were graves of children, tiny pathetic stones half lost in the meadowy vegetation. The silent sleepers made a dome of quietness. The traffic and the people were elsewhere.

Danby stumbled into the long wet grass, getting in between her and the gateway. He almost held out his hands to prevent her from going away.

”What is it?”

”You will come tomorrow, won’t you?”

”Yes, of course. I said so.”

”You don’t mind my calling you Lisa?”

”No, of course not.”

She was staring at him in that terribly attentive way, her mouth pouting a little, her eyes narrowed against the sun.

”Lisa, when you come to see Bruno tomorrow could you stay on with me afterwards, I mean have a drink or something?”

”Was there something special you wanted to discuss?”

”No, yes, that is-“

”About Miles and Bruno?”

”No, not really. I’m sorry, it’s hard to explain-“

11 Is Bruno suddenly much worse?”

”No, no, Bruno’s fine.”

”Then what did you want to talk about?”

”Oh nothing special you see, I just wondered-I mean perhaps we could have a drink, perhaps we could have lunch-Would you have lunch with me tomorrow?” She smiled. “You don’t have to be so grateful. I like coming to see Bruno. You don’t have to invite me to lunch.”

Danby groaned. His feet seemed to be getting tangled together in the grass. “You don’t understand-it’s nothing to do with Bruno-it’s about me-“

”How do you mean?”

”I’m in a difficulty-“

”Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

”You’ll think me a bit mad-“

Lisa was frowning and looking down, fumbling at the buttons of her mackintosh. She took a step away and a step to the side, glancing towards the gateway. “I really would rather not discuss with you anything about my sister.”

”Oh God-“

”I really don’t regard-anything like that-as my business. So if you’ll excuse me-“

”It’s not about your sister. Oh Christ!”

”Well, then I don’t understand you. And anyway I must be going.”

”Lisa, will you lunch with me tomorrow?”

”I’m always busy at lunchtime.”

”Lisa, don’t you understand, I just want to see you.”

”I doubt if I can help you with any of your problems.”

”It’s not that. You’ll stay, after Bruno, tomorrow, talk to me-?”

”I don’t quite see the point.” She was staring at him now in a hostile way, pulling up the collar of her mackintosh like a brown crest.

”There may not be any point for you. But for me-“

”I must be going.”

”Please see me, please-“ He spread out his hands in appeal and to bar her in from the gate.

”I don’t know what’s going on between you and my sister and I assure you I don’t want to know. Now get out of the way, please.”

”You mustn’t think I’m-It’s not like that-With Diana it was just-nothing much-nothing-“

”Well, I don’t want to discuss your nothings. I must be going home.”

”Please, Lisa, just consider seeing me, I’ll write to you, don’t be so cruel-“

”I’m not being cruel. I see no point in this sort of discussion. You seem to me to take a very peculiar view-“

”I haven’t explained properly. Let me explain. Let’s meet more and talk, please-“

”I’m a very busy person and I have a life of my own as I’m sure you have too. Now will you get out of the way.”

”I can’t let you go like this, I’ll write, you will come tomorrow, won’t you-?” Danby contorted himself in front of her and then stretched out a hand which brushed the sleeve of her coat as she stepped quickly into the long grass to get past him. “Lisa!”

She was hurrying towards the gate. In another moment she was outside and had disappeared into the steadily moving crowd. Danby looked after her for a moment. Then he turned back and began to walk slowly away down the long avenue of tombstones.